


i shall not want

by besselfcn



Category: Godless (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/pseuds/besselfcn
Summary: There are a thousand chances to run.
Relationships: Alice Fletcher/Roy Goode, Frank Griffin/Roy Goode
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	i shall not want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cptsdstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsdstars/gifts).



I. GENESIS

And this here, says Frank, with his thumb pressed against it, do you know what this is called, son?

 _No_ , _sir_ , you say. When you swallow his thumb follows as it bobs.

It’s called your Adam’s Apple. Do you know why?

You dig your heel back into the dirt. _From the Bible?_

He smiles like the sun coming up from the mountainside. That’s good, he says. That’s real good, son. You see, when he took a bite of that apple, some of it got lodged -- he presses, and it chokes your breath away -- right there.

He must see the pain against your face, because he pulls his hand back and runs his thumb along the soft fuzz growing across your cheekbones.

And now all us men carry it with us, he says. To remind us of that first sin.

 _Knowledge_ , you say, searching for that sunlight once again

He shakes his head, mouth pinched shut. No, he says. Abandonment.

  
  


II. NUMBERS

There is another boy, for a time. Like you. Not like you.

You meet him on the road, with bones worn thin against his flesh from too many days without food nor water. He is some years your senior, just sixteen, and he curses on a blue streak when you try to calm him down, get the gun away from him and convince him he doesn’t want to shoot.

He tells you his parents are gone; have been some time.

And your other family? Frank asks.

The boy spits.

Frank finds for him a horse to ride within a handful of hours.

He sticks with you and the rest for a while, but the fight between him and Frank is brewing all the time. He scoffs at Bible readings and wanders off when Frank tries teaching you. He went to church, he claims--it was all a bunch of bullshit.

One day you wake and his tent is empty; his few things are gone.

He decided he did not want to stay, Frank says.

You decide you didn’t much want him to, either.

  
  


III. DEUTERONOMY

This is like a sacrament, Frank tells you. Like prayer, you take it on your knees.

It feels anything but holy.

  
  


IV. SONG OF SONGS

Before they put the rope around your neck, Frank says, Remember.

He has told you this so many times before: at the wrong end of a revolver and staring down a moving train. He means it as a rallying cry, a proclamation of his dedication.

For God so loved the world, he would say to you at night, fingers pressed to the bridge of your nose, seeking the shape of your face in the dark, that he gave his only begotten Son, with his hands against your throat, that whosoever believed in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.

The platform slips from under your feet; your throat cinches tight with the rope, legs scrambling uselessly for purchase. _For God so loved the world_ , you think, desperate, angry, _that he gave his only begotten Son_ , with the edges of your vision going dark, _so loved the world_ , with Frank’s voice droning in your ear, that same melodic sermon he gives you every night, _he gave, he gave_ \--

The ground comes crashing up to meet you; the pressure round your neck releases. Great, gasping breaths of air, with Frank’s hand against your back.

There you are, he says. There you are, see?

It is on the ride back home with rope burn still around your neck that you hear the passage for the first time not in Frank’s voice but your own.

You wonder how you never noticed before it says nothing for how God loved his Son.

  
  


V. LAMENTATIONS

There are a thousand chances to run.

Each night he falls asleep; each time he sends you on your own. Each time you enter town and see how they all would pull the trigger on him, if only you’d do it first. Each time he says, Is there anything you need of me, son? and you can think only of the possibility of driving a knife into his throat before he knew what was going to happen.

But you wait. For the train, for the rest of the riders. For everyone’s eyes on you as you run.

Maybe you just want to see if he’d come after you at all.

  
  


I. REVELATION

You wake from a dream of Alice Fletcher’s rifle carving a path through your throat. When it exits, it carries with it chunks of rotted, shriveled fruit.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, half-asleep, her hands a gentle salve against your shoulderblades.

 _I’m fine_.

“What were you dreaming about?” she says. “Sounded mighty awful.”

You shake your head. _Nothing_ , you tell her, and kiss her in the dark. _Just church._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me multiple places with far less religiosity @besselfcn.


End file.
